


Dance With Me, Darling

by freyjawriter24



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Dancing, First Kiss, M/M, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 16:31:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21323236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freyjawriter24/pseuds/freyjawriter24
Summary: Angels don’t dance. Except Aziraphale did, once upon a time, when he was bored and lonely. And now Heaven doesn’t really care what he does anymore. So why wouldn’t he dance with his favourite demon?Or, Crowley casually muses that it’s a shame he can’t dance with Aziraphale, and then finds out he very much can.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 175





	Dance With Me, Darling

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this ficlet a little while ago but didn’t really know what to do with it, and then I wrote [a fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21314524) based on Hozier’s song [Movement](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OSye8OO5TkM) and almost used it as the end scene for that (but it’s more from Crowley’s perspective, so it didn’t quite fit), and now I’ve edited it and extended it a little and I’m posting it anyway. Enjoy!

It was a night like any other, after the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t. The bookshop had closed up hours ago, and Crowley had turned up with a box of pastries that they’d been sharing (well, it was mostly Aziraphale who’d been eating them, but same difference) over stories from history and mutual memories from the past six thousand years.

There had been a lull in the conversation, and Crowley had gotten up to wander the shelves and take note of anything else new that Adam might have added to the bookshop’s collection. Aziraphale was rummaging through an old cardboard box by the record player, presumably to find some good music to put on.

Eventually a familiar melody drew Crowley into the back room again, and he leaned casually against the doorframe to listen. Aziraphale had returned to his chair and was looking down at his clasped hands, lost in thought.

Crowley must have heard this song hundreds of times over the years, but it never got old. Sometimes he truly marvelled at the creativity of humans, at their endless ability to communicate so many layers of emotion through such a simple medium. He tapped his toes absent-mindedly to the rhythm.

“It’s a shame angels don’t dance.”

The words had slipped out without thought. It took a moment to realise he’d said them aloud, and the instant he did, Crowley wished he hadn’t taken off his sunglasses earlier. He froze against the doorframe, trying to look relaxed and casual.

Aziraphale blinked. “Huh?”

“I just...” Crowley waved a hand dismissively. “You know, it’s a nice song. But it’s not really a dance-on-your-own kind of thing, it’s a partner dance.” _Shit shit shit shit shit shit._ “And, you know, you’re the only one here.” _Seriously? Way to go, smooth-talker._

There was a long pause. The music continued, inhabiting the space between them – a space of only a few feet, now cracked into a wide open chasm that demanded to be filled in, closed up, healed.

The music played on, and it sounded lonely in the stillness.

“I did dance, once,” Aziraphale said quietly. “I used to go to a... a gentlemen’s club, in London. They danced there, and it was fun. It was bright and happy and uplifting. You weren’t around, you’d...”

He trailed off, eyes glazed in memory as he stared at the floor. “So I joined in,” he finished, gaze lifting briefly to smile weakly at Crowley, before he looked away again. “Nothing like this, though.”

“I’m sorry,” Crowley said quietly, gently, and he meant it. He knew when it must have been, and he was sorry he wasn’t there, that the argument between them had happened, that he’d caused Aziraphale pain even while in pain himself.

Everything was still again for a moment as the song played on, beautiful and slow and soft and alone. Then Aziraphale stood.

The demon watched as the angel hesitated awkwardly for a second, then quickly moved to stand directly in front of Crowley. His eyes flickered upwards to meet the uncovered yellow ones, and then Aziraphale very deliberately held a hand out, shaking slightly.

“Teach me?”

Angels don’t dance. But this one does. Maybe because he’s never been very good at being an angel. Maybe because he likes humans, human things, human creativity, too much. Maybe because he was nothing like an angel in the first place, and was even less of one now.

Or maybe just because Crowley had suggested it, and perhaps that was reason enough to want to try.

Crowley raised his hand, lowered it towards Aziraphale’s own outstretched palm, and paused.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, nodding a little too vigorously. “Quite sure, dear. But do hurry up before I become too nervous. I’d rather like to not discorporate on the spot just yet.”

Crowley wasn’t entirely sure _he_ wouldn’t discorporate just from taking Aziraphale’s hand. But he did it anyway, softly, gently. And as soon as he did, he knew he didn’t want to let go.

“Uh, ok, so...” He avoided Aziraphale’s eyes, looking instead at their limbs as he placed each where they needed to be. “We hold our hands up, like this, and then my, uh... my other one sits on your waist, and yours is on my shoulder.” He could feel his face getting warmer, the unnecessary heart in his chest hammering like mad as the angel adjusted his position. “Yeah, like that.”

He put a little pressure into Aziraphale’s waist and guided him closer to the record player, away from the chairs, where there was more space to move. With barely a break in the music, the song suddenly started again from the beginning, and Crowley saw Aziraphale’s mouth twitch into a soft smile.

They began to sway together, in time with the music. Their feet shuffled slowly, clumsily, but somehow they didn’t trip each other up or stand on the other’s feet. It wasn’t an artful dance, by any means, and really they should have just had their arms around each other’s necks like teenagers at a school disco and be done with it. But Aziraphale was classier than that, and Crowley genuinely didn’t know what he would do in that position. As it was, he still hadn’t met the angel’s eyes.

The two of them swayed their way through the music, moving in limbo like that, almost as one but not quite, barely dancing, barely keeping it together. The song thought about ending, but then thought better of it and looped again.

It was then that Crowley realised that Aziraphale was moving, almost imperceptibly, towards him with every few steps. Where at first they had been stood apart, a gap between them, arms stretched slightly to just about keep contact with waist and shoulder, the gulf was shrinking and their arms were bending.

Crowley found that his mouth was suddenly, unreasonably dry, and he swallowed. Then he looked up.

Aziraphale’s eyes were staring back at him. Blue – beautiful, wonderful blue, but so much else besides. There were flashes of gold in there, grey and tan and silver and gold, and they looked like the morning sky and the riverbed, they looked like old books and cream tartan, they looked like comfort and safety and _home_. They looked gorgeous and so _close_, and way, way too much.

“Angel...”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, and then he closed the distance. One quick, soft step, out of time with the music, and they were together, chests, faces, hands, lips.

Aziraphale kissed him, and the world stopped spinning.

It was over almost before it had begun. _Too quick, not enough,_ no time to process it before he’d moved away again, hands still in position to dance, eyes questioning with an uncertainty that made Crowley’s already shattered heart feel like it was breaking all over again.

“I... Crowley, I do hope...”

Some strained sound came from deep in Crowley’s throat, and then he stepped forward, driven by instinct and need rather than any conscious decision, his desire pushing him forward before his mind could second-guess everything and back out. And he put his lips to Aziraphale’s, and he kissed him.

This kiss was longer than the first, but no less chaste. It was soft, too full of hope to be too short, but too full of fear to be too urgent. Fear of rejection, even now, even when Aziraphale kissed him first, even when the angel now sighed gently and kissed him back. Kissed him back. _Kissed him back._

When they parted this time, Aziraphale’s eyes were shining with unshed tears. Crowley was about to panic, about to apologise for making him upset, about to be horrified at what he’d done to ruin their friendship – and then Aziraphale turned his head and laid it softly on Crowley’s shoulder, next to his hand, and sighed again softly against his neck.

The music played. An angel and a demon were stood together, chest-to-chest, one set of hands held up, clasped together, the other set around each other, on waist or shoulder, held in perfect balance. The angel’s head rested on the demon’s shoulder, his breath ticking his neck, and the demon didn’t dare breathe at all.

The song looped a dozen times before they moved again. Crowley felt the angel shift and felt his forehead and the softness of a few wisps of hair press against his neck. When Aziraphale’s voice came, it sounded small and far away.

“Crowley, I... Is this ok? Please... please tell me if it isn’t, if I should...”

In answer, the demon bent his head and kissed Aziraphale gently on the nearest bit of him he could reach. He felt a soft shiver go through the angel and used the hand at his waist to press him that little bit closer.

“Of _course_ it is, angel. You’re...”

Words often failed Crowley, even when he knew exactly what he wanted to say. Because it wasn’t about _what_ to say, but the saying of them at all. There’d been so much he hadn’t been allowed, so much holding back. But now... now he didn’t have to do that anymore. Now he could finally say everything he’d always wanted to.

“This is perfect,” he whispered into the angel’s hair. “_You’re_ perfect.”

Aziraphale sighed gently, and then pulled back, hands still clasped tight to Crowley, but eyes now searching his face. Blue, deep blue, beautiful blue, sky and river and home.

“I love you, Crowley.”

“I love you too, Aziraphale.”

After everything, it really was as simple as that.


End file.
